


It should be better this time.

by destielpasta



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blow Jobs, Communication, Communication Failure, Domestic, Emotional Growth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Failed Sex, Hand Jobs, Healing, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Post-Canon, Thigh sex, Yuuri moves to St. Petersburg, but everything will turn out ok, emotional victor, listen yuuri is a little emotionally constipated in this one, mentions of victor x other, mentions of yuuri x other, romantic victor, sexually experienced Yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-11 02:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11705241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielpasta/pseuds/destielpasta
Summary: “Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri…” Vicotor says, eyes closed. “How I’ve missed you. Did you know?”Yuuri’s head spins. Victor’s eyelashes are unfairly long and beautiful, the same platinum blond of his hair. He pulls Victor back to him–  kisses him on the exhale and swallows the moan that follows. Victor’s hands circle his waist. His thumbs press indentations in the spaces between his ribs.“Missed you–  missed you too,” Yuuri whispers into his mouth.





	1. Chapter 1

“Here we are! Home sweet home!”

Yuuri adjusts the duffel bag rubbing a brand into his shoulder, wondering briefly why he had to pick a partner in life that learned English from watching reruns of The Golden Girls. Victor stands in front of apartment 15B, the gold plated number slightly worn but still gleaming. He keeps a tight hold on the handle of Yuuri’s rolling duffel, looking majestic and regal with Makkachin by his side. 

Yuuri tries to disguise his heavy breathing from going up five flights of stairs (the elevator only went up to the tenth floor, like some kind of internet brain teaser) by breathing through his nose, a move that proves unwise since he’s slightly congested from all the air travel. The air whistles through his nose futily, and he gasps through his mouth, his brain nearly shutting down from lack of oxygen and he’s an internationally competing athlete a couple flights of stairs shouldn’t be a problem–  

Victor steps toward him, leaning heavily on the handle like the walking stick of a Victorian gentleman. Yuuri can smell the familiar mint of his toothpaste; had he brushed his teeth just to come pick up Yuuri at the airport at 11PM?

“Would you like me to carry you over the threshold?”

Yuuri smiles, shoulders relaxing. There he is. 

“Let’s save that for a later date?” Yuuri supplies, too tired to help the upspeak at the end of his sentence. 

“As you wish,  _ zoloste _ .”

Victor brandishes his key, opening the door. He lets Yuuri shoulder past him into the apartment, turning the lights on behind him while they both toe off their boots at the door. 

“Well?” Victor says, looking eager and so, so lovely to Yuuri after weeks without him. 

“It's beautiful,” Yuuri says, as if he hadn't memorized the ‘At Home with Victor Nikiforov’ article from last january’s  _ Real Simple _ magazine _.  _ “The windows!”

Victor beams, setting Yuuri's carry-on on the floor next to the very fashionable and modern couch. “That's why I picked it! My last place felt like a dungeon.”

Yuuri nods, taking in the beautiful sight of a darkened St. Petersburg through the clear glass. Victor’s reflection stares back at him in the glass, windswept from the slight snow storm still swirling outside. His own hair is damp from it. 

Makkachin bounds past Yuuri, settling next to his food bowl and eyeing them expectantly. Victor turns, his reflection disappearing from the window. He says something to him in Russian, going to the kitchen presumably to feed him. Yuuri takes the moment to look around more. 

Victor’s apartment is sparse and contemporary; the decorations look professionally done. Yuuri tries to imagine Victor picking out the abstract painting next to the wall of windows. Victor is worldly and sophisticated, he probably has no problem going to swanky galleries and throwing some ice show money around. Would he take Yuuri to places like that? 

Would Yuuri fit?

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He's still keyed up from the plane ride. He knows as soon as he sits he’ll collapse, but for the moment energy courses through him. 

Victor is busy in the beautiful open kitchen, pouring dog food into a bowl for Makkachin. It takes Yuuri a moment to realize he's talking in English again. 

“Tuesday we can go to the rink–  Mila is so excited to see you again–  and Yuri–  well you know how he is but I'm sure he’ll pull out his best scowl for you– Tomorrow we can just rest and go around the city if you like,” he sets the food bowl on the ground and Makkachin attacks it gratefully, “Are you hungry? Only nutritionist approved food here I'm afraid but we could go and get something better for your first night...”

Yuuri looks around the spacious room, absentmindedly twisting his ring around his finger with his thumb. He wonders whether a ring is a smart idea for him–  given his penchant for fidgeting and the tendency for rings to fall into things like storm drains and heat registers, but he imagines he’s safe here in Victor’s apartment.

Victor’s  _ apartment _ .

It registers that Victor has stopped speaking and is looking at him with concern from the kitchen.

“Yuuri? Are you alright?”

Victor is by his side in an instant, lowering him to the perfectly modern grey couch ( _ must take a snapchat for Phichit  _ would  _ not _ be his dying words). Come to think of it, he had been feeling a little wobbly.

“Yes,” he says. “Jetlag.”

Apparently one word answers were all he had in him. Victor just nods, pulling him close. Yuuri snuggles up against his chest. 

“Mmmm.” Victor buries his nose in Yuuri’s hair. “You smell like snow.”

Yuuri giggles, slightly delirious. “What does snow smell like?”

“Like good things,” Victor says, his hand tightening around Yuuri’s shoulder. “I can’t believe my Yuuri is here with me.”

“Two cancellations and four connections later.”

Victor groans into his hair. “I’m so sorry. I already drafted a letter to Aeroflot. Please tell me your legroom was at least ‘above average’?”

Yuuri laughs softly, letting his eyes fall closed. “It’s ok. When you have three airlines involved things are never… smooth.”

English feels like a chore, and Yuuri isn’t entirely sure his last sentence wasn’t half in Japanese. He forgets it as soon as Victor presses a kiss to his forehead. Yuuri shivers; his lips still chilled from the outside. He runs a hand up Victor’s chest. His fingers snag a bit on the buttons, but Victor catches them and brings them to his lips. Yuuri turns to see at Victor kissing each finger individually. He places Yuuri’s hand on his own face, holding it there. 

Yuuri’s heart pounds against his ribs. He sits up and presses his palm to Victor’s cheek in earnest, bringing him down to place a kiss on his lips. 

It lasts for a few moments. Victor’s breath is warm. 

“Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri…” he says, eyes closed. “How I’ve missed you. Did you know?”

Yuuri’s head spins. Victor’s eyelashes are unfairly long and beautiful, the same platinum blond of his hair. He pulls Victor back to him–  kisses him on the exhale and swallows the moan that follows. Victor’s hands circle his waist. His thumbs press indentations in the spaces between his ribs. 

He’s exhausted–  like dead weight when Victor pulls him into his lap, legs splayed as if Victor was about to pick him up and carry him bridal style, but Victor’s mouth is insistent and so,  _ so _ hard to ignore. He shifts a bit so he can press his tongue inside and whimpers when Victor returns the gesture. It’s a slow slide. Unhurried. Victor runs his hands over him as if he were about to map out his lines for posterity. Yuuri tries to return the favor. 

“Missed you–  missed you too,” Yuuri whispers into his mouth.

They hadn’t done anything since the night Yuuri had gotten home from the Rostelecom Cup–    and he’s not sure how much you can count dry humping to completion on his childhood bed while his parents talked about their quarterly earnings through the paper walls of the Onsen. Victor had kept one hand on the nightstand to keep it from rattling on the unleveled floor. They had just barely gotten their pants undone before Yuuri had wrapped his legs around Victor’s hips and whispered “Just–   _ move _ ” onto the damp skin of his neck.

  
Still, the thought of it sends a spike of heat down to Yuuri’s abdomen. Seeing Victor after time apart feels like the warmth of the sun after the opaque winter skies cleared. He shifts, aiming to swing a leg over Victor’s hip to properly straddle him when a stilling hand rests on the small of his back. 

“O-Ok,  _ zoloste _ ,” Victor says, pulling away. His voice shakes. “You’re tired. We should sleep.”

Cold disappoint trickles down Yuuri’s spine, feeling like rejection. It’s ridiculous. But there.

He untangles himself from Victor’s embrace and stands up. He stumbles a little, feeling like he had done a few rounds of shots instead of an international flight. Victor wraps a hand around his wrist. Yuuri stiffens, almost shaking it off. 

“Yuuri?” 

He turns around. Victor’s still sitting, his hand hanging limply from Yuuri’s.

“We have time,” he says. “I want you. But we have time.”

Yuuri swallows. He smiles, wanting to erase the worry lingering on Victor’s face.

He pulls Victor up, lacing their fingers together. 

“I know. I’m tired–  you’re right.”

Victor smiles, grabbing his rolling duffel from where they had left it by the couch and leading Yuuri down a slim hallway to what he suspects is the bedroom. They stop at the doorway. A soft reading light glows from Victor’s nightstand, illuminating a pale cream duvet and a hardcover book resting on the pillow. 

“I only ever needed one bedroom,” Victor says suddenly. “I wish I had another. I know you must want your space–”

It’s Victor’s turn to be nervous. Yuuri smiles, hushing Victor with a finger to his lips. 

“Find me my toothbrush so that we can sleep for a hundred years.”

Victor smiles before doing just that, plying Yuuri with all sorts of facial cleansing products that line the double sinks in the en suite bathroom. Face wash with eucalyptus in it and lip scrub with rosemary and something else for undereye bags that smells like an italian restaurant. Yuuri splashes warm water on his face instead, just looking to get the crust out from the corners of his eyes. 

Victor hands him a soft pair of pajama pants. Yuuri doesn’t recognize them, and with a jolt he realizes they’re right out of Victor’s bureau when he pulls on an identical pair. He puts them on and shucks off his dingy t-shirt and zip-up hoodie. He should take a shower but his eyes droop further just thinking about it. 

He flops down on top of the comforter shirtless and Victor chuckles at that, coming around the other side and pulling the covers down and over them properly. He arranges himself beside Yuuri, rests a hand casually on his waist. 

“You look wonderful in my clothes,” he whispers in Yuuri’s ear. 

Yuuri smiles. He’s in St. Petersburg. He made it.

A lingering thought presses at him as he drifts off to sleep. 

_ Do you want me? Do you really? _

 

* * *

 

Yuuri wakes up warm. 

Victor’s arms are still around him; his breath is hot against his ear. It must only be a few hours later, but it would be time to wake up in Japan. His body still aches from being squashed into an airplane seat, but Victor’s skin against him feels amazing. 

He leans back into Victor’s embrace, moaning when Victor tightens his hold in response. With closed eyes, everything feels heightened and intense. Victor’s hands pressing into his shoulders and belly–  the tickle of his hair against the back of Yuuri’s neck. 

“Victor–  ah–  please–”

It takes a moment for Victor to come out of sleep truly and respond. 

“Yuuri...” he sighs, finally,  _ finally _ , pulling Yuuri flush against him. 

Yuuri sighs when he feels Victor hard against his backside. He pushes back until the shape of him rests in the cleft of Yuuri’s ass, undulating his hips forward and back until Victor gasps, sinking his teeth into Yuuri’s shoulder. 

After a few moments of moving together under the blankets, Victor whispers in his ear. 

“Do you want more?”

Yuuri nods, the motion frantic. Victor separates from him and for a moment there’s a sweep of chilled air as he kicks the blankets off of them, switching positions so that he’s on top of Yuuri, resting his weight on his forearms and knees bracketing his hips. Yuuri pulls him down, having felt the absence of Victor’s mouth since the moment they had woken up.

Yuuri knows he’s a good kisser. He sees to Victor’s top lip, biting down slightly and feeling victorious when Victor moans, deepening the kiss by tilting Yuuri’s head back with a hand on his neck and slipping his tongue into Yuuri’s mouth. It’s Yuuri’s turn to moan, and he remembers that he has hands. He runs them over Victor’s back, catching slightly on tackiness of his skin. He dips lower, squeezing at Victor’s ass and trying to get him to lower himself completely over Yuuri. 

“Come on–  Victor–  I want to feel you.”

He feels Victor smile against his lips and takes it as a challenge. He braces his hands against Victor’s shoulders and pushes, depositing Victor onto his back and effectively reversing their positions. He sees the shine of Victor’s eyes, dark and full, through the moonlight coming in through the window. He locks onto them as he straddles Victor’s hips and lowers himself down so they’re flush. 

Yuuri throws his head back, an almost silent exhale punched out of him at feeling some pressure against his now achingly hard cock. Victor runs his hands over Yuuri’s thighs, squeezing as he shifts his hips and adjusts. 

“You're shivering,” Victor says.

“You have that effect on me,” Yuuri says quickly.

Yuuri bites his lip, the utter stillness in the room setting him on edge. Victor isn’t in a hurry, no matter how much Yuuri tries to bring some frenzy to the moment. He wants Victor to take–  to turn the moment into something–  but Victor just won’t stop  _ looking  _ at him. 

“Are you alright,  _ zoloste? _ ”

“Fine.”

Victor’s brow furrows but Yuuri dips down to kiss him again, feeling it smooth over the more he moves his lips over him. He snakes a hand between them, pawing at the drawstring of his own and Victor’s pants, loosening until they’re slack and he can push at the waistbands.

Victor gasps when Yuuri gets a hand around him, moving his hand slowly over the head of his cock. It registers that this is the first time he’s touched Victor like this. 

The thought disappears when Victor surges up to turn them again. Yuuri lands on his back, opening his legs to let Victor settle between them. Victor works quickly, divesting Yuuri of his pants and pushing down his own to expose his cock with a little more urgency than before. He lowers himself over Yuuri, lining their hips up. 

“Ah–  Victor, yes–”

Victor’s cock is hard against his stomach, running parallel to his own. He cups Yuuri’s face with one hand and braces the other on the sheets, moving his hips slightly in the mimicry of a thrust. Yuuri arches his back, trying to find more points of contact between them. 

Victor reaches down, taking both their cocks in hand and giving them a long, slow stroke. Yuuri can feel his eyes on him. 

“Look at you. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

Yuuri heats up at that, something pricking at his eyes.  _ Not now notnownotnow _ , he pleads with himself. He looks away, Victor’s gaze too intense. 

Victor strokes down then, wringing another moan from Yuuri and  _ that _ he can do. He plants a hand on Victor’s back and tangles the other in his own hair, knowing he must look a sight when Victor swallows audibly. 

Victor licks his palm, returning his hand to their cocks and setting a pace. He lowers himself over Yuuri, panting as he quickens the motions of his hand, mouth latching onto Yuuri’s neck and sucking. Yuuri arches into it, bucking into Victor’s fist.

Victor speaks against his neck, breath hot.

“ _ Ya lyublyu tebya _ –  so much,  _ Yuuri–  _ You’re so beautiful for me–”

Yuuri swallows past the lump forming in his throat, trying to concentrate on the amazing sensations pooling in his abdomen. Victor reaches for his hand, pulling back to look Yuuri in the eye. He kisses Yuuri’s ring where his finger meets his palm. 

“ _ Ty maya lyubof na fsyu zhizn _ –  ah–  ”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, but Victor picks up his pace then, burying his face against Yuuri shoulder as his thrusts quicken. They’re so close–  the slide of their cocks eases by the mess of pre-cum and Victor’s spit on their stomachs.

Victor stiffens above him, coming with a groan as he spills over Yuuri’s stomach. He’s only still for a moment before he sets to stroking Yuuri again. 

Yuuri’s breathing quickens, his stomach clenching. He tries to relax back into the feeling but the room is too hot. His skin is too sticky. Victor’s eyes are too blue  _ even in the dark _ and he had said the word love in Russian entirely too many times for Yuuri to remain sane.

It’s the sensation–  too sudden, too much–  Victor is still touching him. 

He slaps Victor’s thigh with the heel of his hand.

“Ok, ok–  enough–  Victor–”

Victor stops immediately, shock registering on his face. He’s frozen, his hand still on Yuuri’s body. 

Hot wetness burns behind Yuuri’s eyes–   _ oh no, not now _ –  and he hits Victor again, his voice coming out harsh.

“Victor–   _ enough--   _ it hurts–”

Victor’s hand flies away from him. 

“Sorry, sorry–” His face contorts with worry.

Shame, cold and unforgiving, begins to settle over Yuuri. His erection is still hard against his stomach and tears are leaking of his eyes and over his ears onto the pillow. 

Victor puts his clean hand on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri tenses. 

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Victor asks.

Yuuri takes a shaking breath. 

“No–  you didn’t. I–  I don’t know.”

Victor moves back, severing the last points of contact between them. Yuuri sags with relief, but his heart quickens at seeing Victor getting farther away. 

Victor notices his new discomfort. “It’s ok. I’m going to get something to clean us up.”

Yuuri nods, shame settling in his stomach when he realizes Victor’s come is drying on his stomach. Victor rummages around in the bathroom. The water runs. Yuuri’s back starts to ache; he adjusts himself so that he’s sitting up more. The pajama pants are on the floor by the bed. He picks them up, pulling them over his hips despite the mess still there. 

Victor comes back clean and holding a washcloth. He stands over Yuuri, holding the cloth like it was a bomb.

“Do you want me to?”

Yuuri reaches up, taking it. “It’s ok. I can do it.”

Something unreadable passes over Victor’s face as Yuuri swipes the cloth over his stomach. “I can sleep on the couch for tonight.”

Yuuri bites the side of his tongue. “I should take the couch. I don’t want–  you shouldn’t be put out.”

“It’s not putting me out.”

Yuuri bites his bottom lip. Victor moves around the room, pulling on his sleep pants from where they had fallen to the floor and grabbing a pillow from the other side of the bed. He stands at the door, light filtering in from the hallway behind him creating a long shadow. 

“You need sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Yuuri nods.

Victor backs out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. 

Yuuri stares at the ceiling. The wet washcloth is still in hand, leftover moisture seeping into the dry sheets. He jerks his hand up, looking for the damp spot. It’s already had spread a bit and probably had reached the mattress. 

His throat tightens. He throws the washcloth into what looks like a hamper near the bathroom door and starts feeling around the bed for any other spots from his own carelessness. His breathing starts to quicken. Tears burn at his eyes and blur his vision. 

He realizes too late that he recognizes the tightness in his chest and the dizziness settling in his head. The room spins and he tries to find purchase by gripping the sheets. He stumbles from the bed, his feet feeling numb and clumsy underneath him. He tries to keep his breathing even and he somehow gets into the bathroom and turns the lights on. 

The sobbing starts before Yuuri can get the water on to drown out the noise. They tear through his throat, choking him. Every surface of the bathroom is either white or chrome. The brightness burns at his eyes. He finally manages to fumble enough with the tap to get it working, trying to splash some water on his face with shaking hands.

He sobs, the sound an echo in his brain that won’t stop ringing. He mostly feels them, the scrape of the forced air against his throat.

What would he do now? Where would he go? 

Would Victor be gone when he woke up in the morning?

Would he be at his computer, printing Yuuri a new boarding pass back to Japan?

His mind spins millions of scenarios, each more ridiculous that the last. He tries a mantra–   _ I’mokI’mokI’mok _ –  but his breath still rasps. He coughs, trying to clear his airwaves. 

Out of the corner of his eye, the light from the bedroom switches on. 

“Yuuri?”

Victor appears around the corner, his hand braced against the doorway. 

“Yuuri I–”

He stops, taking in the scene before him. Yuuri grips the counter, trying to breathe and not look in the mirror and not look at Victor and–  

Victor is by his side in an instant. 

“O-Ok,  _ zoloste _ , you need to breathe. But you know that already, right? Try through your nose–  might work better–”

Yuuri tries inhaling through his nose, the resistance helping the urgency he feels and slowing his hyperventilating somewhat. Victor reaches up with one hand, rubbing circles in Yuuri’s back.

“Is this ok?”

The touch is grounding. Yuuri nods, concentrating on his breathing. 

Victor switches off the water. The rushing in Yuuri’s ears stops. 

“Let’s get you on the bed, yes? I have a nice bathroom, but it’s not so comfortable, you know?”

Yuuri barks out a laugh that sounds more like another sob as Victor leads him back into the bedroom. He sets Yuuri down on the bed, moving to walk away. Yuuri grabs onto his wrist. 

“Just going to turn the lights off,” Victor says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Victor switches the lights back off, and the darkness calms Yuuri somewhat. He breathing is coming slower now, but his heart still pounds against his ribs as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

Victor comes back to sit beside him. 

“Do you want to lie down? I’ll stay with you.”

Yuuri swallows, throat parched. He nods. 

They lie down, facing each other. Yuuri realizes Victor is holding his hand. 

“Would it help if I held you?”

Yuuri almost falls off the bed in relief when Victor makes the suggestion, and answers by way of cuddling up to Victor’s chest, relaxing further when Victor wraps his arms around him. 

“You’re safe here, you know that?” Victor says into his hair, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Yuuri nods against his chest. Victor has a soft patch of fine hair that starts at his sternum. How had he not noticed it before?

The seconds pass and Yuuri tries to count his breaths, keeping them in time with the way Victor rubs his back. 

“You know, an American magazine came and interviewed me about my apartment last year.”

Yuuri nearly snorts. 

“It’s true!” Victor says, interpreting Yuuri’s laugh as disbelief. “It was my publicist’s idea. She thinks after skating I could become some sort of lifestyle guru.”

“Hmm…”

Victor smiles against his hair. 

“I had to make sure there was nothing embarrassing in my fridge. Apparently, lifestyle gurus don’t generally keep 100-packs of string cheese and boxed wine on hand.  _ And _ they wouldn’t let me talk about the jam I like to put in my tea. I had to put this fancy coffee maker on my counter and pretend I use it.”

Yuuri laughs in earnest. Victor’s arms tighten around him and his breath evens out. He tries to remember his favorite part of the article. 

_ “... I spend most of my free hours here. I don’t see my Makkachin (AN: Nikiforov’s adorable pet poodle!) as much as I would like, but we love to hang out here and watch movies when I’m home. Mostly Russian, I admit, so I’m not sure you would know them. I’m not one for much night-life, as much as the tabloids try to get me outside more… Some of my favorite movies? Well, since you asked...” _

“I liked when they tried to make you seem like a playboy, but you just talked about Russian movies and Makkachin for half the page.” Yuuri tilts his head back to look at him. 

Victor’s eyes light up. 

“Ah–  you read it?”

Yuuri smiles. “Of course I read it. I made Phichit go get it for me as soon as the newsstand opened up because I had an early morning class that day.”

Victor grins. “Good to know someone read it. Despite the lack of scandal it produced.”

Yuuri hums and they fall into silence. His heart beats steadily, but without the force from before. 

“Feeling better?” Victor cautions. 

“Yes,” Yuuri says. He pulls away a little, starting to overheat. 

Victor lets him go, but keeps a gentle hand resting on his waist. 

“Thank you, I’m sorry.” Yuuri says, embarrassment starting to worm its way into his mind.

“None of that–” Victor says, “Sleep. That’s what you need.”

Yuuri nods, turning on his side to get comfortable. Victor presses behind him. 

“This ok?”

Yuuri sighs, relaxing a little more.

“Of course it is.”

His eyelids are heavy, and he’s asleep within a few minutes, Victor’s hand a calming presence on his side. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to note at the beginning of last chapter that this takes place directly after the last scene in the anime where we now know Yuuri is coming to meet Victor after finishing Japanese Nationals. Victor is also finished with Russian Nationals at this point. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone interested in this fic so far!

Yuuri wakes up to the sound of soft footsteps around the bedroom. His head aches, and he rubs his temples as he sits up against the headboard. Victor rummages through the bureau in front of the bed wearing only his boxers, pulling out a pair of track pants and a long-sleeve lycra shirt. 

Yuuri glances out the window, seeing that despite the curtains being throw open it’s still pitch dark outside. 

“How is it still so dark?” He mumbles.

Victor turns around. Yuuri can just see his smile from the light filtering in from the bathroom. 

“It’s eight,” he says while pulling on the track pants. “The sun doesn’t rise for another hour I’m afraid.”

Yuuri groans, throwing the covers off of his legs. “I forgot about that. Are you going to the rink?”

“Yes. Yakov called and said I need to at least get a morning session in if I’m taking the rest of the day off with you. Usually I wouldn’t listen but Europeans are in a month.”

“I’ll come with you–”

“Oh no, you got in too late last night to train today. I won’t have Japan’s Ace collapsing on his first day on Russian ice.”

“Might make the Russians look better.”

Victor smiles but shakes his head, pulling the covers back over Yuuri’s legs. “As much as Georgi would appreciate a confidence boost, there’s still some paperwork to work through and the rink manager said you would be allowed on the ice tomorrow at the earliest.”

Yuuri relaxes back. “Ok. You win.”

Victor dips down, pecking his cheek lightly. “I always do.”

Yuuri smiles but with Victor’s touch comes memories of the night before. Victor and him tangled in the sheets–  Yuuri panicking and all but throwing him off of him. And then Yuuri having an embarrassing panic attack over something as silly as a handjob–  

“Did you bring your gold medal?”

Victor is smiling after he asks the question, but his eyes are searching. 

“I left it with my parents. I figured you were only counting international titles.”

Victor clicks his tongue, sitting down on the side of the bed. “What will we do now? We are far behind schedule on medal kissing.”

“Where’s yours? I could kiss it and make up for it,” Yuuri suggests. 

Victor’s jaw tenses, the muscle jumping somewhat. It’s there a moment and gone the next, replaced with Victor’s winning press circuit smile. 

Victor kisses him. Just a quick peck before he stands up to grab his skating bag leaning against the wall. 

“Maybe later.”

Yuuri touches his cheek. Victor’s touches had been so quick.

“Victor…”

“Tomorrow we’ll get you on the ice, I promise. I’ll make sure Dina is getting the paperwork through. I already fed Makkachin and we went on a walk too, so he should be set for a while–”

Yuuri swallows, watching Victor spiral around the room like some sort of white and silver tornado.

“The fridge is full of food, and there’s a lovely coffee shop a block away that has good breakfast. I could take you there if you wait for me to get back–”

“Victor?”

“Hmm?” Victor straightens from where he had been rooting through his sock drawer. 

“I’m sorry.”

Victor looks down at his phone, scrolling with his thumb. “About what? Listen, sleep a few hours and before you know it I’ll be back and we’ll have a wonderful day. I can’t wait to show you the city–  the weather says snow but it might hold out. Either way we can get food and maybe walk through one of the parks. Does that sound good to you?”

Yuuri bites his lip, chewing at a piece of dry skin. What could say against such a powerful evasion?

“It sounds great.”

 

* * *

 

Contrary to Victor’s hopes, Yuuri does not fall back asleep. After tossing and turning for another hour, he gets up, starting to unpack his bag. His mother would have already cautioned three times by now that his clothes would be musty from sitting in the suitcase. His other clothes and possessions would arrive in a few days by mail.

He sorts his clothes out into piles of shirts and pants and undergarments while sending texts out to friends and family telling them of his arrival in Russia. It doesn’t take him long to finish, and he looks around the room, realizing he has no idea where to put the clothes. Victor has a tall chest of drawers and  walk-in closet, but they would be full, surely. Yuuri opens the bottom drawer of the bureau, hoping that there would be some space to squeeze in some of his things. 

His brow dips when he takes in the sight of the empty drawer before him, covered in a floral patterned liner with a rose-scented sachet in the corner. He opens the drawer above it, finding the same set-up. 

_ Oh. _

Victor must have cleared out some space for him to put his things, and made sure that he could move right in without worrying. He checks the closet, finding a row of empty hangers.He stares at them for a few moments before sitting back down with his folded clothes in front of the bureau. He runs a finger over the abstract pattern in the rug beneath him. 

Victor had made space for him. He had thought about where Yuuri would fit in this apartment and adjusted accordingly. To be honest, Yuuri hadn’t given it much thought at all. 

Sure, he had thought about the rink he would be at, researching the Sports Complex and worrying about what Yakov’s team would think of him and his lack of a professional nutritionist. He had thought about exploring the city with Victor and seeing his city with him. But  _ living _ with Victor? He hadn’t prepared himself for that. 

It hadn’t been the same in Hasetsu. Yuuri had his old bedroom and even after their encounter post-Rostelecom Cup they had mostly kept to separate quarters. Training was sacred and kept as professional as possible, as hard as that became towards the end of the season. He and Victor had declared their love on television and amongst screaming crowds and in the shadows of old cathedrals, but never had they  _ truly _ been alone with it all. 

His phone buzzes, knocking him out of his thoughts. He fumbles for it under a pile of socks. 

Phichit’s name flashes across the screen, his text in all caps. 

_ DID YOU MAKE IT PAST THE IRON CURTAIN??? _

Yuuri rolls his eyes, smiling. 

_ I came from Japan, smartass. _

Phichit starts typing almost immediately. 

_ Facetime? _

Yuuri types out his assent and a moment later the facetime request pops up on the screen. Phichit’s smiling face fills it as soon as he accepts it. 

“Look at you! You look like you just improperly handled jet-lag!” Phichit all but shouts. 

Yuuri laughs, catching a glimpse of just how awful he looks in the front-facing camera. 

“It’s easier to mess it up when you don’t have to worry about skating for an international title the next day.”

Phichit nods. “True. So how is it? Where’s Victor?”

Yuuri’s stomach twists. “At the rink. He wanted to get the morning in since I was sleeping anyway.”

Phichit nods. “Smart, smart. When do you get some rink time?”

Yuuri launches into a description of all the paperwork he had been subjected to via mail while still in Japan. Apparently, it was a big deal for a foreign skater to train exclusively in Russia. Non-disclosure agreements, health records, even recommendations requested from former coaches–  all sent post-haste to him as if he were getting a government job instead of figure skating. It had been a mad dash to get them all processed and validated while trying to train for Nationals with only Minako and Nishigori to coach him for Nationals. Victor was only a floating head on his macbook screen at the time, grainy in the Ice Castle’s poor excuse for Wifi while Yuuri tried to replicate the quad flip. 

“There’s still a few more things to settle before I can skate. Hopefully tomorrow though.”

Phichit nods, looking thoughtful. 

“You ok? That all sounds a little stressful.”

Yuuri adjusts the phone in his grip. “It’s fine. No way around it. I can afford a day off now, with Four Continents still so far away.”

“You can afford more than one. Relax. See some sights. Sleep with your boyfriend.”

Yuuri’s stomach ties itself into an elegant knot.

Phichit’s smile slides off his face. “Oh, sorry Yuuri. I didn’t mean–”

Yuuri waves it away. “No, no–  it’s not you. Sorry, I’m just being stupid.”

Phichit had always been his confidant about such things back in college–  why would it be different now? He takes a deep breath. Maybe his best friend would know where to go from here.

“It’s just, well–  Victor and I tried doing some stuff last night. And it didn’t go very well.”

Phichit raises his eyebrow at the word ‘stuff.’ Such modesty must sound ridiculous to the friend that had walked in on him blowing a member of the university lacrosse team in the bathroom at a particularly sloppy house party. 

“Are you ok?” Phichit asks instead.

Yuuri blushes at the concern in his voice, knowing he’s making a bigger deal out of this than is warranted. 

“Of course,  _ yes _ , it’s not a big deal. I just–” he stops. 

“Yuuri…”

“I just freaked out while he was giving me a handjob and then had an anxiety attack after.”

“Yuuri!”

Phichit takes a moment to settle down, centering himself with a hand against his forehead. 

“Ok, ok, sorry. Didn’t mean to freak out. Are you alright? That’s what I meant to say.”

Yuuri laughs, his old friend’s antics more comforting than concerning. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little bit of a headache right now leftover from it.”

Phichit had been there for more than one of his anxiety attacks before, and had been there to pick the pieces of him up after. 

“I can imagine…” Phichit says. “Yuuri, he didn’t push you into it or anything?”

“No! No no no, that’s not what I meant. It was just… overwhelming.”

Phichit nods. “What do you think made you feel that way?”

“I don’t know… he was saying all these things. God, he talks a lot during sex–  I don’t even know why I’m surprised, he talks my ear off when we’re training–  I should have known it would be the same–”

“Yuuri.”

Phichit recognizes all his evasion techniques. 

“Right. Well, he was saying all this stuff in Russian–  maybe thinking I wouldn’t understand but you know–”

“You’ve been studying Russian on and off since you were fourteen on the off chance you would meet Victor Nikiforov and you wanted to greet him authentically. Continue.”

Yuuri shakes his head, smiling. “You’re such a jerk. Anyway, he was saying all this stuff–  and I recognized the word for love and forever and I don’t know–  it was just too much? Things just went downhill from there.”

Phichit’s camera shifts, like he’s leaning the phone against something. He steeples his fingers against his chin. 

“So let me get this straight. Your fiance told you he loves you and cherishes you during sex and you were overwhelmed enough to trigger an anxiety attack?”

Yuuri blushes. “Well when you say it that way–”

Phichit holds up a hand, looking instantly guilty. “No! That’s not what I meant. I know it’s not your fault when you have those attacks.  _ But _ . It does make me think about something.”

Yuuri groans. “Somehow I think this is going to be embarrassing for me.”

Phichit plows on. “I was thinking about that time in school when you called me from halfway underneath Mark Stalatio’s bed to come get you after you guys hooked up the night before. 

Yuuri groans again but Phichit keeps going.

“I thought the worst–  like he had forced you into something, or turned out to be a jerk once he got what he wanted–”

“Phichit–”

“I even stole Celestino’s car to come get you. A feat of espionage unparalleled since then.”

“I know how the story ends you don’t have to–”

Phichit speaks over him. “ _ And then _ I get to Mark Stalatio’s dorm to see you climbing out through his window into the bushes. And those bushes were not maintained. They were  _ mostly _ branch so I know you were risking getting pretty scratched up to get out of there.”

“I did get scratched up.”

“Once I got you in the car though, do you remember what you told me? The big explanation for why you had to escape out of the window?”

“You’re obviously going to tell me anyway.”

“He had kissed you good morning, told you he liked you a lot, and had wanted to make you breakfast.”

“It wasn’t that simple–”

“Poor psychology-major Mark was going to give you his last pop-tart after he so wonderfully bottomed for you and you dove out his side window while he was brushing his teeth.”

In hindsight, Yuuri can only laugh at himself. His hair had been a mess. His shirt had been backwards. 

“My point is though,” Phichit continues, growing serious again, “That it wasn’t the sex. Now, I’m not saying that you should have gone out with Mark Stalatio after that–  especially if you didn’t like him–  but hearing that someone has feelings for you and then connecting those feelings to physical attraction has always been a touchy thing for you.”

“Now you sound like psychology-major Mark,” Yuuri mumbles.

Phichit raises his eyebrows. “Think about it, Yuuri. You know Victor loves you. He kissed you on TV. You guys are  _ engaged _ . Hell, you gave him the ring. You love him too, right? Enough to blurt it out to all those poor people at what was supposed to be a quiet JSK press conference?”

“Of course I do,” he says. 

“You know you left a string of broken hearts back in Detroit, don’t you? All those one-night-stands that looked at you with googly eyes until you graduated?”

Yuuri shakes his head.  _ Yes _ , he had had his fun while in college. But that hadn’t meant anyone had deeper feelings for him. How could they? He had never opened himself up to anyone in that way. The closest had been with Phichit, and a few drunken make-out sessions didn’t count. It hadn’t truly happened until– 

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Yuuri says, “I freaked Victor out enough he probably will never touch me again.”

“Don’t go down that road, Yuuri, it’s not pretty. You need to talk to Victor. That’s all. Tell him what you’re afraid of.”

He hears the tell-tale sound of keys jiggling in a lock and a door opening. “Yuuri?” Victor calls.

“In the bedroom!” Yuuri calls back. 

Phichit still stares at him expectantly. 

“Don’t keep him in the dark about this, Yuuri. He needs to know what you’re feeling.”

Yuuri sighs, nodding. “I need to get going. Talk to you soon?”

“Love you! Bye!”

He hangs up with Phichit as soon as Victor cracks open the door to his room. He smiles, taking in the sight of Yuuri sitting on the floor, his clothes still in piles around him. 

“I see you found your drawers!” he says brightly. “There’s space in the closet as well.”

“I saw it–  Thank you,” Yuuri says, trying to impart his gratefulness into his smile. 

“Who were you talking to?”

“Phichit. He just want to make sure I got here alright.”

Victor nods, coming to sit on the floor by him, their shoulders touching. “I need to take Makkachin out quick, but after that I thought we might be tourists a little bit this afternoon. We can get some food and then maybe go to the Hermitage museum? It’s too big to see all of it in one day but we could make a start.”

He looks at Yuuri hopefully, and for some reason Yuuri feelings guilty, and also happy at the possibility of spending time with Victor away from the apartment. 

“I’ve always wanted to go there.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri enjoys himself all day, breathing in the cold, fresh air while they walk. He’s wrapped in one of Victor’s scarves, all of Yuuri’s deemed inappropriate for the St. Petersburg cold. Victor buys him a sweet and spiced tea from his favorite cafe and they eat pirozhki from a paper bag while walking along Nevsky Prospekt. 

Yuuri reaches for Victor’s hand about halfway through their walk through the Hermitage Museum, the hordes of walking tours bumping them from all sides. Victor ushers him to open areas as he finds them, pointing out his favorite pieces and people-watching all the different tourists. Yuuri’s heart pounds steadily when Victor plays with his fingers, or grips him tighter to pull him in front of him to see a painting. He let’s him go as soon as they make it back out in the open courtyard.

“We’ll go back,” Victor says while they walk back to the apartment and snow begins to fall around them, “It’s busy right now because of the holidays. We’ll come back during the week some time so we can really walk around.”

Yuuri smiles, wishing Victor would hold his hand again. “Where else will you take me?”

Victor launches into his plans to somehow work in day trips around St. Petersburg to see the palaces, including weekenders to travel to surrounding areas. Yuuri keeps quiet, knowing most of it is a fantasy. Once Yuuri starts training it will have to take precedent. 

Makkachin greets them excitedly when they get back to the apartment, circling their legs and bounding around like a much younger dog. Yuuri settles on the couch, looking around for the TV remote to add a little white noise while Victor feeds Makkachin. 

Yuuri flips the channels around, one Russian channel bleeding into the next. He pauses on what is obviously a soap opera, the dramatic music and poor lighting the same no matter the country. 

“What’s this?” Victor asks when he comes to sit beside him. 

“No idea,” Yuuri says, stifling a yawn.

“Still tired?”

“No.”

Victor laughs, laying an arm over Yuuri’s shoulder and pulling him close. Yuuri tries not to tense from surprise; it’s the first time Victor has touched him all day besides holding his hand and kissing him quickly.

He settles comfortably against Victor’s shoulder. 

“How was the rink? I never asked earlier.”

Victor considers for a moment. “Good. Yakov had me do run-throughs.”

There’s an edge to Victor’s voice.

“Is that not ok?” Yuuri asks.

Victor sighs, adjusting his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “It is what it is, as they say. I think he’s worried about my stamina. But it’s not what I’m used to. At last year’s Grand Prix I hadn’t done a run-through since the second qualifying event.”

Yuuri mentally flicks through the scores of information he had collected over the years about Victor’s training. The Russians weren’t exactly forthcoming on their methods, but he did know it was common for Russian skaters to not bother with full run-throughs until they performed in a competition. The mere thought of never having completed a program before a competition sets Yuuri’s teeth on edge. 

“Maybe he thinks you need a change.”

Victor shrugs. “Maybe.”

They turn back to the television, the two main characters now locked in a fierce yelling match. Yuuri relaxes in the softness of the moment, despite Victor’s misgivings about his training. He’s warm. The TV drones on in fast-paced Russian and Yuuri doesn’t even try to understand what’s happening. Victor doesn’t seem altogether interested either.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. He tips his head back where it had been resting against Victor chest to look at him. Victor looks at the TV, mouth set in a slight frown as if thinking about something. Yuuri reaches up, tilting Victor’s face down to look at him. 

Victor’s eyes are dark and indecipherable in the dim light coming radiating off of the television. He licks his lips, just a quick flick of his tongue. Something jolts through Yuuri–  nerves and a whole host of misgivings, but he has to make this right.

Yuuri presses forward, kissing Victor softly on the corner of his mouth. Victor sighs, turning his head slightly and kissing Yuuri in earnest. It’s a sweet kiss, the kind that lingers in doorways and is appropriate in coffee shops. Yuuri feels it like an ache in his chest. 

He wants to feel more heat, like how he had woken in the middle of the night hard and wanting Victor more than anything. He presses forward, running a hand over Victor’s chest and settling on his waist. He tilts his head forward and tries to deepen the kiss, Victor accepting and opening his mouth  after a moment’s hesitation. Yuuri moves to sit up on his knees, to bring them closer together– 

Victor’s hand snakes between them, landing with a thud against Yuuri’s chest. He pushes, breaking them apart. 

“Yuuri–  stop.”

Yuuri freezes. 

He scrambles off of Victor, landing on the other end of the couch and out of his reach. His stomach churns, his face reddening with shame. He drops his head in his hands.

“You don’t want me.”

He hears Victor shift. 

“Yuuri–  you know that’s not true–”

“I know I lost it last night but if you would just let me show you I can–”

“You don’t have to  _ show _ me anything–”

“ _ Stop.” _

Victor cuts off with a gulp. Yuuri looks up, wondering if his face already looks blotchy from tears. Victor sits frozen, worry etched in face. 

“You keep cutting me off,” Yuuri says, his voice shaking. “I’ve been trying to apologize but you won’t let me speak.”

Victor opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He motions for Yuuri to continue. 

“Last night was–  I’m sorry. It must have made you feel awful to see me like that. I can’t control it, once it starts.”

Victor taps his fingers against his knees, channeling energy.

“I know.” He swallows. “I wanted to be prepared, ever since Beijing. I looked up a few things–  I don’t know if it was helpful.”

Yuuri’s heart warms at the thought of Victor on the computer, researching and making a plan for Yuuri’s anxiety attacks in the case they would need it. It explains why he had gotten Yuuri settled so quickly.

“You did great,” Yuuri says, his voice coming out gruffer than he would like it.  

Victor lays a hand on his shoulder. “I do want you,  _ zoloste, _ you know I do. But I think it will be good for us to take a break from that, while you are getting settled.”

Yuuri runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Is this how you’re going to treat me now? Like I’ll break if you touch me?”

Victor shakes his head. “I want you to be ready. For sex and whatever comes with it.”

“Why is this only your decision to make?”

“I don’t want to have regrets. To regret coming here. Or being  _ with _ me.”

Yuuri laughs, the sound cold to his own ears. He shakes off Victor’s hand. “I’m not a virgin, Victor. I’ve been ready. Sex is nothing new to me.”

Victor shakes his head, as if he had proposed something ridiculous. 

“Nonono–  we are not doing  _ that _ until we know that you won’t drop so much after.”

Something hot erupts inside of Yuuri. 

“Don’t patronize me, Victor. I’ve probably done this more than you. It’s–  it’s not a big deal!”

Victor’s eyebrows furrow. His mouth relaxes.

“Not a big deal,” he repeats, as if testing the words for their potency. 

Yuuri feels the sting of them thrown back at him, realizing what he had truly just said. 

“That’s not what I meant–”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be a ‘big deal’--” It vaguely registers that Victor’s use of air quotes would be funny if despair hadn’t begun to fill Yuuri to his core. “To you. But it would be to me.”

Yuuri stutters, fully formed sentences not coming.  _ IhurtVictorIhurthimIhurthim _ goes off like the Kill Bill siren in his head. 

“Victor–  I–”

Victor gets up with an audible slap at his own knees, striding over to where Makkachin’s leash hangs from a hook on the wall. The dog in question perks up from his bed when he hears the obviously familiar sound of Victor unhooking it. 

“You know Yuuri–  Makkachin, come–” Makkachin trots over to the door. Victor hooks the leash into her collar. “It would be something for you to realize that you are not alone in this relationship. I can’t wait until you do.”

And with all the grace of a five-time world champion, Victor walks out the door, closing it with a slam. 

Yuuri is alone. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me again! I felt really bad leaving the last chapter where I did, so here's the quickest update I've probably ever done! Thanks again to everyone who commented, I really love to hear what you guys think.

Yuuri wanders around the apartment for a few hours. There’s food in the fridge. He pokes around, almost making dinner, but ultimately returns anything he finds back to the shelves uncooked. He leans against the pristine countertops for a while, squeezing out a few tears.

He tries the television again, finding an old British sitcom after some perusing. The plot is silly and doesn’t hold his attention, but he watches it while eyeing the door for Victor to return home. After a few hours he gives up, changing into his own pajama pants and burrowing under the covers in Victor’s bed. He closes his eyes, just barely dozing.

Victor crawls into the bed behind him sometime after 10 o’clock. 

“Are you awake?”

Yuuri bites his bottom lip, coming out of his fog. He nods. 

“I’m sorry my feet are cold. The boots I wore are shit at keeping out the cold.”

Yuuri hums, acknowledging him without committing to an actual response. Victor sighs, the puff of air warm against the back of his neck. 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

Yuuri chews on the inside of his cheek. 

“For what?”

“I left because I didn’t want to raise my voice at you. That wouldn’t have been fair.”

Yuuri turns over. Victor is on his side, his hands resting under his face. He looks so young back in the moonlight. Yuuri thinks they are better off having all their important discussions in the dark. 

“You can, you know.” Yuuri shifts so that he is fully facing Victor, clearing his throat when his voice comes out choked. “Raise your voice, I mean.” 

Victor shakes his head. “No. We were trying to work through something. I should have been understanding–  I should know all about saying things I don’t mean. We’re you… ok? After I left?”

_ Did you have another panic attack? _

Yuuri sighs. “I was ok. I cried a little, but that seems normal enough.”

Victor huffs a bitter laugh. “Because it’s so much better that I made you cry again.”

“Hey–” Yuuri reaches out, not touching him, but wanting to be closer. “There’s two of us in this. Right? Isn’t that what you said? Sometimes we’ll upset each other. I’m not keeping score.”

Victor nods. “I know. It’s not fair to either of us if we keep things to ourselves when we’re upset.”

Yuuri doesn’t respond, feeling that he wants to say more. 

Victor rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t think I deserved my gold medal at Nationals.”

Yuuri’s brow furrows, his mind catching up with the new information. “What do you mean? You had a perfect program.”

Victor shakes his head. “I disagree. I watched Yuri’s program after, and I think he gave an overall better performance. His jumps were stronger.”

Yuuri had streamed both performances on his laptop in the middle of the night. Yuuri had called Victor right after he left the kiss and cry–  he sounded so  _ happy _ .

“You’re only second guessing yourself. You’re the same you always have been, better even.”

Victor sighs. “Either way. It’s been bothering me. I wondered if you would think I’m the same person, without my skating. If you’d even want me.” He laughs bitterly. “My knee hurts a lot lately. I wonder how much more it can take.”

Yuuri sits up and leans on his elbow. He stares down at Victor. 

“Have you been skating injured?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s like an ache that won’t go away no matter how much I stretch or how many fish oil vitamins I take.”

Yuuri starts to protest again but Victor holds a finger to his lips. 

“It’s ok,  _ zoloste _ , I’m fine. I need you to hear what I’m saying. Like when you wanted that before, yes?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose.

“You said… that you were worried I wouldn’t want you if you couldn’t skate anymore?”

Victor looks pained, but he nods. 

“And then yesterday happened, and I’ve been worried all day that I ruined everything–  that I pushed too hard, was too clingy.” 

Victor eyes him intensely. Yuuri sits up, leaning against the headboard.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

Victor’s hand is at his wrist, pulling slightly until Yuuri looks at him. 

“I wish you would tell me why you’re apologizing.”

Yuuri swallows when Victor laces their fingers together. He takes a deep breath.

“Phichit said something yesterday–  he explained it well,” Yuuri starts, “I’m not inexperienced. With. Well,  _ that _ stuff.”

“You said that.”

Yuuri nods. “College was weird for me. I went from my small town and doing regional competitions to–  being on my own pretty much. My first year I was all but alone, until Phichit came. We went out a lot. I lost quite a few competitions before I started winning anything worth mentioning. I drank too much, and always ended up–  compromised.”

A furrow appears in Victor’s brow. 

“How so?”

“I slept around.” Yuuri laughs, uncomfortable, “A lot.”

Victor sits up so he’s leaning against the headboard as well. “Ok. You know I don’t mind, right? It doesn’t make what we have any less.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “It was just an outlet. I was so stressed–  writing papers and exams and trying to  _ train _ of all things. And I was horrible–  my skating. Was horrible.”

“Yuuri, I know that’s not true.”

Tears prick at Yuuri’s eyes. “Do you? I don’t know if you do. I  _ needed _ that outlet, Victor. But I never–  I never wanted it to be anything else.”

“Like what?”

“Like–  love,” Yuuri stammers, “I don’t know how to do that part of it all. And last night you were so amazing–  and the things you were saying–  it all just–”

Victor rests his head in his hands. “I told you I love you.”

“I know. And I don’t know–  it just set something off in me.” He lifts his knee and rests his chin against it. “I never was good at the emotional part of sex. Phichit could tell you some stories. I wanted to show you that I didn’t need you to teach me how to do this. That I could make it good, but I messed it all up now.”

Victor squeezes his hand. When Yuuri looks up, he’s watching him.

“You didn’t.”

Yuuri meets his eyes, feeling the full weight of all the love on Victor’s face hit him full force. He leans over, resting and head against Victor’s shoulder. Victor responds by pulling him close against his chest.

“You were right, earlier,” Victor starts. “You probably have done this more than I have.”

Yuuri exhales. “That doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I said that.”

“I know. We both said things we don’t mean.” There’s another beat of silence. “Will you tell me about it?”

Yuuri’s brow dips. “About what?”

Victor shifts, as if he’s uncomfortable. “I want to know–  I want to know about how you were. What scared you? What would Phichit tell me if he was here?”

Yuuri laughs softly at the last request. Victor seems to deflate with relief.

“I know it’s strange for me to want to know about this.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “It’s not.”

He starts to talk, the words falling from his mouth once he gets going. He starts with Mark Stalatio, the story fresh in his head. Mark had still texted him the next day despite Yuuri’s awkward escape, but Yuuri had never provided an explanation. And then there had been Iggy Townsend, the frat boy that wore coral colored shorts and flat-brimmed hats who Yuuri slept with at a boring party after getting sixth place in the NHK Trophy in 2014. Iggy had brought him flowers at the rink to surprise him a few days later. Phichit had had to feign an injury so that Yuuri could shoo him away. 

Victor laughs at the appropriate parts, and holds him closer at others. Like when Yuuri had walked himself home in the middle of the night three days in a row after a hook-up had gone bad. How he had been looking for release only to feel so alone afterwards when the other person had rolled over and fallen asleep holding Yuuri’s hand.

“It’s like with the girl.” Victor says, “The one you talked about, at the hospital when she tried to hug you. You didn’t want her to think she was entitled to your emotions.”

Yuuri nods. “It was never the sex. It was the talking after. People thought they knew me because they had touched me and that just–  wasn’t right. I had never given that to them”

Victor nods against the top of his head. Yuuri swallows hard, bunching a bit of the fabric of Victor’s t-shirt against his fingers. 

“You know me. Probably better than anyone else–  and that scares me sometimes. I want to give everything to you, I never even came close to that with anyone else.”

Victor’s thumb traces patterns against his arm. 

“Thank you for telling me that. I’m sorry I wouldn’t listen before. I didn’t–  I never want to see you unhappy,  _ zoloste. _ I’ve told you I don’t handle negative emotions well.”

“I think I have you beat on that front.”

Victor laughs, smoothing his hand over Yuuri’s hair. “Now we’ll be competitive about who’s more emotionally stunted.”

Yuuri laughs too, stifling a yawn that comes over him. He feels strangely heavy, like he could sink into the mattress. Victor sinks down, lying back on the bed; he takes Yuuri with him. 

“You don’t have to ever be ready, Yuuri. What we have–  I don’t need anything more than that. Just to have you close.”

Victor turns onto his other side, as if avoiding Yuuri’s gaze. Yuuri wraps his arms around him, resting his face against the back of Victor’s neck. Victor’s waist is slim but strong under his hands.

“But…” Victor continues, “If what I’m thinking is correct, I think we just need to be patient with each other. Maybe that’s all we need, yes?”

Yuuri smiles against his skin. He hopes Victor feels it. 

“Yes.”

Victor settles back against him, as if sagging from relief. Yuuri his arm will fall asleep soon and they’ll fall to their own sides of the bed for the night, but for now he needs to keep Victor close. He needs Victor to know that he  _ wants  _ him close. 

“I can’t wait to see you skate tomorrow,” Yuuri whispers against the back of his neck.

“Mmm. Likewise,” Victor mumbles.

Yuuri is pulled back into the throes of sleep before long. The last thing he feels is the rise and fall of Victor’s breathing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream with me about yoi on tumblr: destielpasta.tumblr.com
> 
> Comments are love!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer than usual wait for this! Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

The alarm goes off at 6AM, and Yuuri reaches over Victor’s still-sleeping form to turn it off. He sits up, running a hand through his hair and yawning. He reaches for his glasses, though they don’t do much good in the pre-sunrise world. He looks out the window squinting at the shadowy forms of people starting their days in the dark. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Victor mumbles, face still smashed into the pillow.

“I know I will,” Yuuri says, “The question is whether you will.”

Victor groans. “My Yuuri is so cruel to me.”

He sits up and braces his weight on his elbows, still lying on his stomach. His hair is a mess and his eyes are barely open. 

Yuuri swallows.  _ My Yuuri _ echoes in his head. His stomach flutters. He can’t help but dip down and kiss Victor. 

It’s their first kiss since their fight the day before, and Yuuri relishes in the tenderness of it. They both have morning breath but it’s fine. Victor makes no move to deepen the kiss. He keeps one hand on the side of Yuuri’s face, his thumb stroking cheekbone. 

They separate after a few moments. Yuuri smooths Victor’s hair away from his face. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

“How do you feel?” Victor whispers.

“Like I hate fighting with you.”

Victor smiles, his teeth bright in the darkness. 

“But then how would I get to make up with you?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes but lets Victor pull him back. They kiss while they’re smiling, almost laughing into it. 

After a few minutes Yuuri climbs atop Victor, knees bracketing his thighs and his hands flat on Victor’s chest. He leans down and kisses his neck, moving up until he can claim his lips again. Victor grows hard against the crease of his hip and Yuuri’s body responds in kind. He doesn’t realize it at first, what with Victor’s mouth so wonderfully moving with his own, but it’s the same position they were in the night before when Yuuri had begun to freak out. 

Victor’s hands slide up to shoulders, then cup gently gently around Yuuri’s neck, pushing him away with gentlest pressure. 

“Where’d you go?”

Yuuri laughs softly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Victor’s.

“You felt it?”

Victor nods. “I felt it the other night too. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to my instincts.”

Yuuri shakes his head, loose tendrils of his hair blending with the silver-blond of Victor’s fringe.

“There’s no way you could have known.”

Victor brushes the hair away, skimming his forehead. “Even so.”

Yuuri sighs, running his fingers over the soft cotton covering Victor’s chest. 

“Don’t be afraid of me now,” Yuuri says, a note of pleading in his voice, “Please don’t be afraid.”

Victor’s eyes open. 

Yuuri swallows, holding his gaze. He puts a hand to his face.

“Let me make you feel good, Victor.”

He says Victor’s name with intention:  _ I’m here with you. I want this with you. _

Victor nods, tenderly touching Yuuri’s wrist where it meets his cheek.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if you want to stop.”

“Victor…”

“Promise me. We have to trust each other, including that you’ll tell me to stop if it’s get to be too much.”

Yuuri nods. “I promise.”

Victor smiles, and it sets Yuuri’s heart to beating. 

“Ok. Now kiss me. Please,” he adds with a laugh. 

Yuuri surges down to do just that, Victor’s hand flying out to the side when he catches up to the new turn of events. Yuuri grabs for it in the sheets, lacing their fingers together. Victor doesn’t hold back, humming into the kiss and parting Yuuri’s lips with his own. He moans when Yuuri slips his tongue into his mouth, inhaling sharply through his nose. Yuuri takes each response and tucks it away. Something to remember later. 

Victor’s arms wind around his back and Yuuri buries his hands beneath his back, effectively tangling them together. Yuuri moves first, pushing his hips down to better feel the outline of Victor’s erection next his. Victor gasps, reaching down to palm at Yuuri’s ass, pulling him almost impossibly closer. 

“Just move like that–  ah–” he pants in Yuuri’s ear, “You feel so good.”

Yuuri moans in response, quickening the movements of his hips. He buries his face against Victor’s neck, licking and sucking and trailing his lips along his skin while Victor moves his hips in tandem beneath him. 

It reminds him of their first feverish encounter after the Rostelecom Cup, but without the desperation. They move as if in slow motion to better absorb each sensation. He thinks about making the motions to remove their clothes or touching Victor in a new way, but it occurs to him–  why? Why not stay wrapped in each other until they both fall apart?

Victor begins to tense up after another minute, squirming and tightening his arms around Yuuri. Yuuri keeps up a steady pace, kneading his hands into the muscles of Victor’s back, encouraging him with his movements. He wants Victor to come. He wants to feel him shake beneath him. 

He backs up a few inches, trying to kiss Victor but they’re both too close to coming to do it properly. They brush their lips together, panting and moaning against each other. Victor comes first, his back bowing against Yuuri’s hands and Yuuri follows a moment later from the vision of Victor’s eyes squeezed shut and neck bared in pleasure.

A rushing noise fills Yuuri’s ears as pleasure rocks through him. After it’s over, Victor rubs soothing circles into Yuuri’s shoulder blades, calming his rushing heart. Yuuri is boneless against him.

“Are you alright?” Victor whispers, “What do you need, Yuuri?”

Yuuri rolls off of Victor onto his side, resting his forehead against Victor’s chest. He breathes deep through his nose.

“Can we stay like this for awhile?” Yuuri asks quietly. 

Victor answers by pulling Yuuri closer. 

“Of course,  _ zoloste _ .”

Yuuri relaxes with a sigh. His heartbeat slows and his breathing returns to normal after a few moments. Victor is being so patient with him, but he hears his nerves in the shakiness of his breath.

“That was amazing,” Yuuri says, blushing despite his performance a few minutes ago. 

Victor dip down to press his lips to Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri feels the smile in his kiss. 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

* * *

 

 

Yuuri’s nerves make a reappearance just in time for them to make their way over to the rink. Victor explains that he arranged for them to have ice time for a couple hours in the morning three times a week. 

“What does Yakov think about that?”

Victor waves his worry away, as if he could swat it with a fly. 

“It was a deal. If I won Nationals, then he would take me seriously as a coach. And a coach needs time with his student.”

Yuuri smiles. “And you did win.”

Victor chews on his bottom lip. “Feel like jogging to the rink? I’ll race you!”

And then he’s off, leaving Yuuri to kick his walking pace up to a jog in one of his least favorite activities in the world.

Running is horrifying. Especially when you have to weave through throngs of unsmiling Russians.

It does give him a moment to think, however. Victor’s silver head bobs in front of him for a while, and he wonders at Victor brushing aside the topic of Nationals again, when he had so easily confessed to his misgivings on the subject the night before. Did the sun erase that time? Or just put it on hold? 

Yuuri’s stamina wins out in the end, and Victor begins to tire after a few blocks. Yuuri loves that Victor attacks his runs like a sprinter, always thinking he can keep up an unreasonable pace indefinitely. Yuuri is there when they end up side by side. 

They arrive at the rink after another few blocks, and Victor insists on opening every door for him and ushering him in as if he were some long lost prince coming to his new home. The rink is bright with high windows that nearly reach the ceiling. A skating magazine had done a write-up on Victor Nikiforov’s home rink after he won his first Grand Prix gold, and Yuuri remembers how Victor had said in sunny weather you could skate in a bathing suit. 

Now  _ that _ had been a useful visual for nineteen year old Katsuki Yuuri. 

Yuuri grins secretly at the memory, letting Victor lead him around and show him off to all the staff at the rink, including in the weight room and cafeteria. Yuuri smiles and bows instinctively at each smiling or stern face he meets, wondering how the hell he’s going to remember all these names. It’s much more expansive of a complex than Yuuri has ever trained in, only rivaled perhaps by Detroit–  and even there you had to go to the store down the road to get your lunch. 

“We have gymnasts here too,” Victor explains once they finally make it to the locker room and are pulling on their skates. “They train on the other side, though. We only see them in the cafeteria. They get chalk everywhere.”

Yuuri laughs at the appropriate volume, already all but chewing on his bottom lip to channel his nerves. His skates sit unlaced on his feet. He aimlessly scrolls through his instagram to delay tying them. 

Victor eyes are on him after he finishes lacing his own, but he continues his casual chatter as if he doesn’t notice that Yuuri’s heart is starting to pound in his throat. He talks about the ice quality, how Mila had taken to picking Yurio up whenever he got cranky, how Sala Crispino might come for a week of training sometime in the summer–  then he sinks down to one knee in front of him, lacing up Yuuri’s skates without the slightest bit of prompting. 

Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat. Victor’s fingers are quick and practiced; it certainly isn’t the first time he’s laced Yuuri’s skates. There’s never a break in his talking, and Yuuri finds he can sink into the sound of his voice and movements of his hands. The laces make the skates press into his feet, a welcome pressure he hadn’t realized he was missing. 

When Victor finishes, he looks up. Smiling like he knows a secret, he quickly kisses Yuuri’s knee before standing up.

“Ready?”

Yuuri is. 

His fear melts away when he takes his first step out onto the ice, automatically lapsing into the familiar routine of compulsory figures after skating a few laps. His body knows the moves; he could almost close his eyes and let his feet do the work. His first serious coach in Japan had taught him the technique, and Yuuri has always been proud that he kept it up on his own even when Celestino thought it a waste of time. 

Victor skates laps around him, letting Yuuri warm up in his own way. That was one of the things about Victor as a coach: he knows when to hover and when to leave Yuuri to it. 

Yuuri moves into practicing step sequences, letting his muscles warm-up slowly after almost two days off the ice.  _ Eros _ ’s winding and seductive moves require constant maintenance, and despite his win he doesn't think he had been as smooth at Nationals compared to the Grand Prix events. 

Victor winks at him when he whizzes past. 

Off course, Victor's absence might have been the reason for that. 

Victor backtracks to the barrier after a while to watch Yuuri do a full run through of  _ Eros  _ without the music. 

They settle back into their familiar patterns, the ice underneath his blades just as comfortable as in Hasetsu. Some people pass in and out out of necessity, but Victor was right. The ice belongs to them for now. Victor calls out directions, sometimes offering a demonstration. The quad flip is always a chore rather than a pleasure, but Yuuri starts to land it after a few stumbles. 

“Be happy your worst attempts are stumbles or a hand on the ice,” Victor says when Yuuri starts to shut down with frustration. “Your best attempts look like you're trying to put me out of a job.”

“ _ Hai, _ ” Yuuri answers sullenly before skating away for another attempt. 

It's much later when he recognizes Victor's subtle dig at himself for what it is. 

Time passes quickly, and soon it's almost time for the other Russian skaters to arrive. The nerves start to build again; while Victor trains with Yakov Yuuri is to keep practicing on his own. 

A pair of arms circle him from behind. 

“Skate with me,  _ zoloste. _ ”

Yuuri's tempted to tease  _ aren't we skating already? _ But he knows what Victor means. He relaxes back against him and lets Victor guide their movements for a few seconds. A swoop here, a spin there. Of course, ice dancing isn't exactly an improvisatory sport, and they stumble a few times while trying to find harmony with each other. 

“It'll be a while before we can do this again,” Yuuri says. 

Victor smiles, tightening his hold on Yuuri's hand. He spins him out and back in. 

“I like that you are assuming we will both make it to Worlds.”

Yuuri blushes. “You know what I meant.”

“Don't misunderstand,” Victor says, “I love a confident Yuuri.”

They drift around listlessly. Tomorrow they would worry about Europeans and Four Continents. Today was for them. 

Victor leans in and asks Yuuri if he would like to run _S_ _ tammi  V icino  _ before the other skaters arrive.

Something jumps in Yuuri's stomach. He nods. Victor parts from him with a smile. 

Yuuri grounds himself in the center of the rink and lowers his head. The beginning always sets him buzzing, reminding him of the day he performed it for Yuuko, when everything had changed forever. 

When Victor joins him, he remembers just how much. 

“How could you say that you aren't what you used to be?” Yuuri breathes after they finish and Victor slides down from his last lift. 

Victor frowns. Yuuri continues. 

“I mean–  Victor, you're  _ better.” _

Victor's flush deepens, eyes wide. 

Yuuri swallows, meeting his blue eyes with his own. 

“Maybe we're both better together.”

Yuuri blanches, thinking maybe he was being too much, too cheesy. Victor's face breaks into a smile then, his eyes shining. 

“Yuuri!”

He flings his arms around him, pulling him into a close embrace. He buries his head against Yuuri's neck, murmuring in Russian. Yuuri recognizes a few of the words. 

He holds him tighter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! I'm anticipating one more chapter to tie up the loose ends. These boys will be the death of me. 
> 
> Also, I'm beginning a few other projects, and am looking for a beta. If you have experience editing and giving feedback on characterization, plot, and grammar and sentence structure, please reach out to me on tumblr and I'll give more information. destielpasta.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

Victor yanks Yuuri away from the ice, practically throwing his skate guards at him once they reach the padded floors rinkside. He grips his hand hard, pulling Yuuri into the deserted locker room where they had stashed their things.

He presses him against the wall. 

“No one ever uses this one. Don’t worry,” Victor says quickly.

Yuuri’s eyes widen, taking in the full sight of Victor, wrecked and damp from their skate, looking at him without distraction. He runs a gloved hand over Victor’s hair. He leans into the touch. 

“To see you here–  at my rink–” Victor swallows, his throat working from the motion, like he’s holding back. 

Yuuri leans back against the wall, pulling Victor against him flush. 

“Tell me.”

Victor’s eyes light up. He presses his forehead against Yuuri’s.

“I love you.” Victor exhales the words as if they had been stuck inside of him. “I never want to be away from you.”

The words wash over Yuuri, his nerves coming to the forefront of his skin like livewires. 

“I want to kiss you,” Yuuri says.

Victor dips his head down, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s temple. Victor is open and without walls, like he had been the first night. Yuuri only wants to be closer this time. Yuuri seeks out his lips, his nose bumping into Victor’s cheek before he finds his mark. 

Victor sighs through his nose, the breath warm against Yuuri’s cheek as he slots their mouths together. He kisses Yuuri’s top lip first, soft ministrations that draw a whimper from Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri brings their faces closer, searching and finding an angle where they fit. Victor’s gloved hands slip down from his shoulders to circle his waist, the leather slipping without enough friction. Yuuri presses a hand against the small of Victor’s back to remedy it, bringing their hips together.

Victor moans against his lips and Yuuri takes advantage by slipping his tongue in his mouth. It brings them closer, all soft hands moving against clothed skin and the barely-there sounds of their mouths coming together, mimicking the motions of making love. 

Victor breaks away after the first grind of Yuuri’s hips against his. His eyes are dark. 

“Home,” Yuuri says. Victor’s eyes widen. He lays a hand against Yuuri’s cheek, angling him up so their eyes meet.

“What?” His voice is breathless, disbelieving. 

Yuuri runs a hand over Victor’s side. He shivers from the touch.

“Take me home.”

Watching Victor’s mouth part in surprise and satisfaction makes Yuuri’s heart thump against his chest. He had never taken the time to learn anyone’s hot buttons before. He would learn  _ all _ of Victor’s.

Victor springs into action, grabbing Yuuri’s hand firmly and steering him over to a bench. He begins unlacing his skates and throws them in the duffel bag. Swinging back around, he bats Yuuri’s hands away and begins unlacing his as well, hoisting his foot onto his lap one leg at a time. 

“You’re not quick enough,” he says by way of explanation. 

Yuuri laughs, the sound bubbling up through all the other sensations coursing through him. 

Victor sneaks him out a back entrance, explaining that the whole Russian team would be filing in any moment now. 

“You’ll see them,” He says while pulling Yuuri down the alleyway and back out to the main road. “I promise I’ll show you off–”

“Tomorrow,” Yuuri agrees.

Victor turns around, smiling at him. Like he’s precious. 

“I love you so much,” he repeats. Yuuri’s heart beat skips, but it only feels good this time. 

Victor doesn’t waste any other time, sticking out his hand to hail a taxi down. An unmarked red car pulls up next to them. Victor speaks in quick Russian through the passenger window to the driver before beckoning Yuuri over to the backseat. 

“Only because we are in a  _ great _ hurry,” he says once they’re in the car together. 

The driver peels away from the curb and Yuuri buries his face in Victor’s shoulder, laughing hard enough to shake his shoulders.

“What?” Victor asks, feigning affrontment.  

“The first thing Minako said when I told her I was moving to Russia was to not let you pull me into any unmarked taxis.”

Victor laughs too, trying to stifle it against Yuuri’s hair. The driver glances back at them through the rearview mirror. 

“Oops,” Victor says, “You can tell her with a native it’s perfectly safe. And in desperate times.”

They laugh all the way back to Victor’s apartment building, trying and failing several times to keep their hands off of each other. Victor pays the man a certain amount of rubles and Yuuri tosses an enthusiastic  _ “Spasibo!” _ over his shoulder as he lets Victor pull him out of the car and into the building. They breeze past the doorman and into the elevator as soon as it dings open. 

Yuuri walks Victor back into the wall as the elevator rises, determined to wring some kind of reaction from Victor before they reach their destination. He latches his lips against Victor’s throat, sucking the skin between his teeth until Victor’s arms wrap around him. He moans, hands kneading patterns into Yuuri’s back in encouragement. Satisfied, Yuuri pulls back with a  _ pop _ , running his teeth lightly over the new mark. 

Victor gasps. “You are–”

But Yuuri never did find out what he was, because in that moment the elevator door pings open and they set off down the hallway to Victor’s apartment. 

It takes Victor a few tries to get the key into the lock, probably due to Yuuri ghosting a hand over the front enclosure of Victor’s pants. Once inside, Victor turns around and backs Yuuri up against the door, claiming his lips in a long, searing kiss. 

Yuuri relaxes against the wood with a soft  _ thud _ , elbows bumping until he finds a place to put his hands. He runs them through Victor’s hair, blindly pulling off his own gloves to better feel the soft strands against his skin while Victor’s mouth moves over his own. This kiss has heat behind it, and Yuuri feels Victor, half-hard against him when he slots a leg between Yuuri’s.

Yuuri moans into Victor’s mouth, sucking on his tongue and riding his hips over his leg, only beginning to feel the possibilities of friction. 

Victor pulls back, stroking Yuuri’s hair away from his face only for it to flop back down again. His eyes are searching. Yuuri sees what’s behind them.

_ Are you ok? Do you need to stop? _

Yuuri bites his lip. 

_ I love him. I love him–  I love him. _

He pulls Victor forward again, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, reassuring him.

Victor rests a hand against the back of his neck, speaking against Yuuri’s skin.

“Slow–  let’s try keeping things slow.”

Yuuri nods, letting his hands roam over Victor’s back while he kisses his neck. He arches into Victor’s mouth. 

“Is that good?” Victor whispers, “You taste incredible.”

Yuuri’s toes curl in his shoes, blushing from a strange mixture of arousal and embarrassment. They’re both covered in sweat from training. In reality it should not be pleasant. He knows, he’s done this with many a fellow competitor. 

But it  _ is. _

He backs Victor up, trying and failing to keep kissing him. They laugh and stumble all the way to the bedroom. 

“Where’s Makkachin?” Yuuri asks when Victor pushes him onto the bed. 

Victor crawls over him. “I have a neighbor–” kiss–  “She takes him–” kiss–  “for the afternoons, since we should be training right now– ah–”

Yuuri bites Victor’s lip. It reddens beautifully as the blood rushes to it, just like the flush burning on Victor’s cheeks all the way down to his neck. 

“We probably have an hour before she knocks on the door.”

At that Yuuri starts pawing at Victor’s thick wool overcoat, aghast that he had let him stay so clothed for so long. Victor in turn reaches for the zipper of Yuuri’s parka, pulling it down and helping Yuuri shrug out of the bulky garment. 

“You couldn’t have lived in–   _ fuck _ –  Sochi, could you?” Yuuri gasps as his sweater gets stuck over his head.

Victor laughs behind the screen of the navy blue sweater. “Bite your tongue.” Yuuri finally gets the sweater free with Victor’s help. He looms over Yuuri, licking his lips. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

There’s hunger in Victor’s eyes again, burning away the humor slowly. Yuuri pulls him close, relishing in the feeling of almost having Victor’s skin against him, only a thin undershirt in the way. Their kiss moves like magma under the earth, simmering low until a delicious ache blooms in Yuuri’s hips. He runs his hands under Victor’s shirt, trying to ruck it up despite their proximity.

Victor understands his meaning, sitting up to whip his shirt off. Yuuri runs a hand over the smooth muscles of his abdomen, tighter from renewed weeks of full training again. Victor grabs his hand, holding it with both of his own and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. 

“You too,” he says, helping Yuuri sit up so he can divest him of his shirt as well. 

Victor kisses him back into the mattress, flattening the line of his body against Yuuri’s. Yuuri traces his fingers over the muscles of Victor's back. Victor draws a whimper out of him, sucking lightly at his neck and settling on his pulse point. The burst of pleasure reaches all the way down to the tips of his toes, and his hands sink into the soft tresses at the back of Victor’s neck. He hisses when Victor bites down,  pulling him roughly back to his mouth, kissing him and hoping that there’s a matching mark on his body now. Something to remind him of the man he loves. 

The thought has his eyes flying open, his body freezing. Victor pulls back, concern in his eyes. 

“What were you thinking? Just now?”

Yuuri licks his lips, still tasting Victor on the tip of his tongue. He reaches up, cupping Victor’s face. It’s all he needs to see.

“I love you,” Yuuri says, his breath catching slightly, “I was thinking about how much I love you.”

Victor exhales harshly, turning and kissing Yuuri’s palm. 

“Yeah?” Victor asks against his skin, breath warm. 

“Yes.” 

Victor surges down and kisses along his jaw. Yuuri takes the moment to let his knees fall to the sides, helping Victor settle between his legs. He runs his heel up and down Victor’s leg.

Yuuri is achingly hard now, desperate for any friction, especially with Victor using his mouth so creatively. He feels Victor against the crease of his hip, shifting slightly as if to relieve some pressure.

Victor pulls back, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s.

“What do you want?” He asks breathlessly. “Anything you want.”

Yuuri thinks on it a moment. He kisses Victor on the corner of his mouth.

“I want to make you feel good.”

Yuuri leans over the side of the bed, rifling through the contents of his carry-on bag. This particular item made him blush when he packed it, but now he only feels victorious when his hand closes around the small bottle of lube. He throws it on the pillow beside him and immediately starts working at Victor’s zipper, eyes down.

“I want–” The words catch in his throat. He’ll just have to show him. 

Once they’re both divested of their clothing, Yuuri arranges them so they’re on their sides, Yuuri pressed against Victor’s front. Victor follows his directions with shining eyes and complete willingness. He kisses the base of Yuuri’s neck, hand skimming over his belly and cock grazing the cleft of his ass, waiting for the next instruction. 

Yuuri reaches behind himself to pull Victor’s hips flush with his own.

“The lube–”

“I have it,” Victor says quickly, a whisper against his shoulder. “What do you want?”

Yuuri swallows hard. “Spread it between my thighs.”

Victor complies, warming the slippery liquid in his hands first before moving between Yuuri’s legs. The first touch sends a shiver down Yuuri’s spine. He lifts a leg slightly to ease Victor’s way.

“Good?” Victor asks.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, head spinning, “Now–  put it between my thighs. Until you come.”

Victor stiffens behind him at his words, and a fresh batch of nerves shoots through Yuuri–  but then Victor moans, low and guttural from the base of him, and melts. Victor’s fingers ghost along his inner thigh, lifting just a bit until he can move his cock between his thighs in a first, slow thrust.

Yuuri sighs, arching back as Victor finds a rhythm, circling his hands around to hold Yuuri against him. It’s an embrace Yuuri could lose himself in, but he feels present. Grounded. The smooth skin of Victor’s cock moves between his legs, pressing just so against his perineum– 

“Ahh–” he exhales, “So good–  Victor–”

Victor’s thrusts quicken, but it’s sensuous, something Yuuri had never experienced before. There’s barely an inch of space between them. Each movement sends a jolt through Yuuri’s abdomen up to his cock, the pleasure radiating without end. He touches himself, running his hand up and down along with the rhythm of Victor’s thrusts.

Victor moans in his ear.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Victor says, voice harsh and broken, “I want–”

Victor cuts himself off. Yuuri turns around just enough to meet his eyes. He takes a deep breath.

“Tell me,” Yuuri says, “Don’t hold back. I want to know.”

Victor seems to sag with relief and then the words spill from him. Love and devotion and  _ forever _ and this time Yuuri isn’t scared. He lets Victor’s feelings rest on him, finding them to be a comfortable weight.

“I can’t believe you love me,” Victor says when his thrusts slow down. He clears his throat. “Will you–  say it again?”

Yuuri stills in confusion for a moment, but then he understands. 

“I love you.”

Victor moans into his hair, his pace quickening. Yuuri whimpers as his cock massages behind his balls again and again, making his head spin with pleasure. Victor’s hand presses into his lower belly, holding him tight against him. 

Yuuri says it again. 

He nearly orgasms on the spot when Victor’s warm come paints his thighs, Victor thrusting into it until his body shudders behind Yuuri. He nips at Yuuri’s shoulder, rocking his hips until he begins to soften.

There’s only a moment in between when suddenly Yuuri is flipped onto his back. His head spins with the motion and leftover pleasure of Victor between his thighs. Victor is on him in an instant, lowering himself to the level of Yuuri’s hips, and with a flash of blue eyes and a wicked grin, he swallows Yuuri down. 

Yuuri arches off the bed, crying out as the wet heat of Victor’s mouth envelopes him. Victor takes him down almost to the root, circling his hand around the base where he can’t reach. Yuuri scrambles to find purchase, clenching one hand around the pillow above his head and the other running through the fine and slippery strands of Victor’s hair. 

Victor moans around him when Yuuri’s fingers graze his scalp, pulling back slightly to suck the tip and swirl his tongue just so. Yuuri is close, pent up from their earlier activities and Victor’s come between his thighs.

“Victor–  I’m gonna–”

Victor just takes him deeper, tongue massaging along the underside and Yuuri comes. His back bows off the bed and he moans, emptying into the wet heat of Victor’s mouth while sensation wracks his entire body. 

It takes him a moment to come down , body slack and wrung out against the bed. Victor’s lips touch his briefly, and Yuuri blindly sighs into it, tasting himself and Victor together on his mouth. They kiss slowly until Victor relaxes onto his side, laying his head against Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri’s arm snakes around him, holding him close. 

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” Yuuri says, keeping his voice quiet. Dust motes swirl through the air in the warm afternoon sun. It’s a moment in time. He wants to clutch it hard against his chest and never let go. 

Victor laughs once. “I didn’t know either.”

Yuuri shifts down, facing Victor. He snuggles against him. 

“I love that you love me,” Yuuri blurts out, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Is that bad?”

Victor smiles, reaching up to thread his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. His ring catches the light. 

“No. I love that you love me too.”

Yuuri swallows the lump in his throat, hiding his smile against Victor’s chest. He knows he feels it.

Yuuri’s hard pressed to leave the bed, even when the doorbell sounds and Victor has to root around for his pants so that he can greet the dog walker. Yuuri cleans himself up in the meantime, and Victor re-enters the room with a snow-covered Makkachin, who immediately jumps on the bed to rain down slobbery kisses on Yuuri.

Victor grabs his laptop before sitting on the bed again. 

He wordlessly pulls up his videos from Russian Nationals. Protestations jump to the tip of Yuuri’s tongue–   _ You did amazing, you don’t have to worry! _ \-- but they die when Victor looks at him.

“Watch it with me? Tell me what you think?”

They watch them. Yuuri points out the good and the not-so-good, drawing from the way Victor watches footage when it’s his skating they’re analyzing. Victor takes notes on a notepad from his bedside table with a green pen. His programs are new, loosely fashioned during his time in Japan but only fully realized in the two weeks before Russian Nationals. 

Even so, Victor is breathtaking on the ice.

It’s a different intimacy than what they did before, but no less. 

Yuuri’s able to draw out the location of Victor’s gold medal with only a few kisses, the laptop balanced precariously between them. Victor whispers it against his lips and Yuuri fetches it from a box under the bed. It sits shining and golden on top of older medals, their ribbons duller and the medals smaller–  more bronze and a few silver than anything. 

“From regional competitions, before I became Junior World Champion,” Victor explains when Yuuri plops it on the bed. “I thought I could hide it in there.”

Yuuri shakes his head, fitting the gold medal over Victor’s head and around his neck. When it sits on his chest Yuuri bends down, pressing a kiss to the cool metal. 

“We still have a lot to learn about each other, don’t we?” Victor says quietly, guiding Yuuri to look up at him with a hand on his cheek. His eyes shine.

Yuuri smiles, ducking forward for a quick kiss. He pulls back, winding his arms around Victor’s neck. 

“Let’s go slow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, so thank you for reading my fic! I have enjoyed all your reactions and am so thankful for your support. This fic was a really personal project for me (when are they not I'm such a sap) and I'm glad others enjoyed it as well. 
> 
> New projects are already in the works! Be sure to subscribe to me if you are interested in reading more of my works!
> 
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